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TRICKSTERS AND HUCKSTERS: SHOW BIZ ARCHETYPES
by Addison De Witt
“Real Power”
As our nation experiences the tragedy of September 11th, and its many repercussions, there is much hand-wringing going on in the entertainment industry about how to properly respond. Should movies and television shows with violence be shelved? What is the mood of the public going to be? Are we going to want more comedy now, to forget our troubles? Or are we going to prefer deeply emotional stories that will allow us to vent our feelings? And – gasp! – should the Emmys be cancelled? Must the show always go on?
Broadway found the answer fairly quickly, and it is a resounding yes. Though fewer tourists are flying into the Big Apple these days, theatres are nearly filled to capacity with local people hungry for the redemptive power that great artists can provide. There’s a magic that happens during a wonderful performance – or painting, or poem – that’s transformational, and we desperately need that now. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s comedy, or music, or drama, as long as it allows us to connect with something – our deepest yearnings, even our deepest fears, because connection gives us hope. And hope is perhaps what we crave most right now.
The Miss America Pageant went on, as planned, mere days after the attacks. And while some may have watched out of habit, or boredom, or for the silly pleasure of sneering at the whole enterprise, I am certain that somewhere out there that night was a little girl who thought it was magic. Who saw that an ordinary kid from Oregon could grow up to be “Miss America” if she practiced piano and got good grades and if she really, really wanted it. Mock me, if you will, but you know it’s true. It’s not my dream, but it’s somebody’s, and the ability to still have dreams for the future is what is going to get us through this.
Everybody has their moments. For me, it’s probably the sheer joy of watching Lucy and Ricky and Ethel and Fred in a convertible singing “California, Here I Come.” Or the night I first saw Bette Midler perform live. Or listened to Carole King’s “Tapestry.” Barbra Streisand singing “I’m The Greatest Star,” or the look in Robert Redford’s eyes when he says goodbye to her for the last time in “The Way We Were.” When dozens of people fall out of a state room in a Marx Brothers movie. When Michael Corleone kisses Fredo after he realizes his own brother has betrayed him. When Willy Loman's wife says "Attention must be paid" in "Death Of A Salesman." Watching back-to-back reruns of “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” till 2:00 a.m. Peter Pan flying out over the audience. The “1812 Overture.” “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” I could go on and on, and so could you.
All of these moments and many more have spoken to me, tapped something in me, moved me, comforted me, filled my heart, made me forget my troubles, allowed me to feel less alone. I think there’s real power in that, and we should be very grateful.
As I get older, new moments like these occur with less and less frequency. Perhaps it is a consequence of maturity, maybe I’m harder to please. But it’s the chance that it could happen again that keeps me going back to the movies, to the theatre. And every once in a while, a piece of music, a line of dialogue, a brilliant actor, a new novel, a perfect song, will catch me by surprise, and there it is. Goosebumps. And I’m grateful all over again.
People in all aspects of Show Business are crazed right now, because they’re afraid that they don’t know what people want. William Goldman put it well, in “Adventures In The Screen Trade”: “Nobody knows anything.” But I know this: We want what we have always wanted. To have someone see inside our hearts. To be transported and transformed by art. And to live in a world where we can still have our dreams. Is that too much to ask?
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